The Slave in Waiting.
The Slave in Waiting.
The bellowing of the crowd reaches a new height of frenzied feral bellicosity as the two gladiators enter the arena to mark the climax of the games. They have lasted for three days now these games; three days of mounting excitement and slaughter, adjudged by many to be the most spectacular, lavish and expensive games ever staged in Rome, to celebrate Caesar’s triumph. There have been wild b**st hunts, theatrical re-enactments of Caesar’s victories in the east, a dance performed by half naked slave girls captured in the campaign, a mock battle between German mercenary auxiliaries and captured enemy soldiers and countless other entertainments for the 50,000 Romans packed each day into the Amphitheatrum Flavium. None of those entertainments however has matched the anticipation of the climactic combat about to begin.
The two gladiators now receiving the adulation of the Roman masses are the most famous in all Rome; seasoned veterans of over 300 battles in the Colosseum between them and worshipped by the Roman populace. The men folk admire them for their courage and skill, the c***dren aspire to be like them and the women folk blush and lower their eyes in modesty whilst stealing admiring covert looks at their hard muscled, half naked bodies glistening with the aromatic olive oil they have anointed themselves with. For years they have enjoyed the universal acclaim and popularity of Rome but now they are about to fight their last contest and leave the arena for good; legends in their own time.
The stakes could not be higher. Caesar has declared this contest to be sine missione; a fight to the death with no possibility of the granting of mercy for the defeated. This is theoretically not allowed by law. Ever since the days of the God Emperor Augustus the declaration of sine missione has been outlawed in the arena and the most popular and acclaimed gladiators are routinely spared even in defeat. They after all represent a considerable investment and their pulling power as super stars in the arena too massive to squander. But now they are due to retire and they are offered one last chance at fame and glory.
One thing is missing from the two gladiators’ past record. They have never faced each other in the arena. The news that these two would finally meet in their last battle, and that to the death, has electrified all Rome with excitement. The betting has been immense; the tie too close to call with certainty. Enormous fortunes rest upon the outcome of this battle and it has been the talk of Rome ever since its sensational announcement. The 50,000 people lucky enough to have purchased a seat in the Colosseum for this contest are aware that they are about to witness a spectacle that will be talked about for generations. Tens of thousands more groan in disappointment but line the streets outside awaiting news of the fight.
The two men receiving the final blessings of the priests and flexing their muscles in preparation for the contest know that their whole lives have now condensed into this last final battle. They are superbly trained, meticulously equipped and prepared to use every trick and skill of their long careers in this ultimate contest. For the loser there will be death indeed but even death will carry glory with it and popular immortality. There will be a honoured place beyond the grave as well; perhaps even a billing in the arena of heaven. They have spent all day in preparation and in purification should they die today. Each man carries a silver coin about his person to be placed in his mouth should he die; his fare to pay the ferryman who will convey him across the River Styx.
Yet it is not only life and death that is on offer to motivate these two warriors to their greatest battle ever. The purse for this contest is the greatest ever awarded for a single fight. Caesar himself has bestowed a purse of gold so lavish that it will set the victor up in comfortable retirement for life. There will be a plot of land in Southern Gaul, a handsome villa overlooking the sea, acres of olive groves and orchards and a retinue of household slaves. Perhaps the victor will harbour ambitions to open his own gladitorial training school to bestow his knowledge and experience upon a new generation of fighters for the arena. He will enjoy his retirement as a rich patrician; a man of substance and renown. And, if all this were not incentive enough, there is one more supreme prize for the victor..... me!
I am a minor princess of the newly conquered territories in the east and the daughter of the bravest general killed in battle with the legions of Rome. Captured and brought to Rome in chains I was paraded in my finery in Caesar’s triumphal parade down the Via Triumphalis and was accounted by the throngs of admiring spectators to be the most beautiful slave taken in the war. Some said that I was to be sacrificed to the God Mars in thankfulness of Caesar’s victory even though human sacrifice is now officially banned in Rome. But the sacrifice is to be conducted in the arena today and I am the prize; to be given as slave and bride to the victor.
I have already been presented half naked before the two contestants and seen the deep lust burning in their eyes. They will risk all willingly, kill gladly to possess me, their sexual appetites feeding the frenzy of their mortal combat. Now I am chained at the side of the arena; stripped naked so that their lust for me will spur them on to even greater effort. When the killing is done and the contest over, the victor will take me there and then, with the fever of battle still in his veins and the smell of blood in his nostrils; take me under the eyes of all Rome to sate his lust, taming me with his whip and rutting with me like a wild b**st under the encouragement of the baying howls of the Roman mob.
The two gladiators clash their swords against their shields and face up. The excitement in the Colosseum reaches a crescendo. The noise is tumultuous and the air reeks with the scent of 50,000 frenzied bodies. I close my eyes and pray to the Gods for serenity. The battle is about to begin.
Michaela
(A small present for my Master. xxxxx)
The bellowing of the crowd reaches a new height of frenzied feral bellicosity as the two gladiators enter the arena to mark the climax of the games. They have lasted for three days now these games; three days of mounting excitement and slaughter, adjudged by many to be the most spectacular, lavish and expensive games ever staged in Rome, to celebrate Caesar’s triumph. There have been wild b**st hunts, theatrical re-enactments of Caesar’s victories in the east, a dance performed by half naked slave girls captured in the campaign, a mock battle between German mercenary auxiliaries and captured enemy soldiers and countless other entertainments for the 50,000 Romans packed each day into the Amphitheatrum Flavium. None of those entertainments however has matched the anticipation of the climactic combat about to begin.
The two gladiators now receiving the adulation of the Roman masses are the most famous in all Rome; seasoned veterans of over 300 battles in the Colosseum between them and worshipped by the Roman populace. The men folk admire them for their courage and skill, the c***dren aspire to be like them and the women folk blush and lower their eyes in modesty whilst stealing admiring covert looks at their hard muscled, half naked bodies glistening with the aromatic olive oil they have anointed themselves with. For years they have enjoyed the universal acclaim and popularity of Rome but now they are about to fight their last contest and leave the arena for good; legends in their own time.
The stakes could not be higher. Caesar has declared this contest to be sine missione; a fight to the death with no possibility of the granting of mercy for the defeated. This is theoretically not allowed by law. Ever since the days of the God Emperor Augustus the declaration of sine missione has been outlawed in the arena and the most popular and acclaimed gladiators are routinely spared even in defeat. They after all represent a considerable investment and their pulling power as super stars in the arena too massive to squander. But now they are due to retire and they are offered one last chance at fame and glory.
One thing is missing from the two gladiators’ past record. They have never faced each other in the arena. The news that these two would finally meet in their last battle, and that to the death, has electrified all Rome with excitement. The betting has been immense; the tie too close to call with certainty. Enormous fortunes rest upon the outcome of this battle and it has been the talk of Rome ever since its sensational announcement. The 50,000 people lucky enough to have purchased a seat in the Colosseum for this contest are aware that they are about to witness a spectacle that will be talked about for generations. Tens of thousands more groan in disappointment but line the streets outside awaiting news of the fight.
The two men receiving the final blessings of the priests and flexing their muscles in preparation for the contest know that their whole lives have now condensed into this last final battle. They are superbly trained, meticulously equipped and prepared to use every trick and skill of their long careers in this ultimate contest. For the loser there will be death indeed but even death will carry glory with it and popular immortality. There will be a honoured place beyond the grave as well; perhaps even a billing in the arena of heaven. They have spent all day in preparation and in purification should they die today. Each man carries a silver coin about his person to be placed in his mouth should he die; his fare to pay the ferryman who will convey him across the River Styx.
Yet it is not only life and death that is on offer to motivate these two warriors to their greatest battle ever. The purse for this contest is the greatest ever awarded for a single fight. Caesar himself has bestowed a purse of gold so lavish that it will set the victor up in comfortable retirement for life. There will be a plot of land in Southern Gaul, a handsome villa overlooking the sea, acres of olive groves and orchards and a retinue of household slaves. Perhaps the victor will harbour ambitions to open his own gladitorial training school to bestow his knowledge and experience upon a new generation of fighters for the arena. He will enjoy his retirement as a rich patrician; a man of substance and renown. And, if all this were not incentive enough, there is one more supreme prize for the victor..... me!
I am a minor princess of the newly conquered territories in the east and the daughter of the bravest general killed in battle with the legions of Rome. Captured and brought to Rome in chains I was paraded in my finery in Caesar’s triumphal parade down the Via Triumphalis and was accounted by the throngs of admiring spectators to be the most beautiful slave taken in the war. Some said that I was to be sacrificed to the God Mars in thankfulness of Caesar’s victory even though human sacrifice is now officially banned in Rome. But the sacrifice is to be conducted in the arena today and I am the prize; to be given as slave and bride to the victor.
I have already been presented half naked before the two contestants and seen the deep lust burning in their eyes. They will risk all willingly, kill gladly to possess me, their sexual appetites feeding the frenzy of their mortal combat. Now I am chained at the side of the arena; stripped naked so that their lust for me will spur them on to even greater effort. When the killing is done and the contest over, the victor will take me there and then, with the fever of battle still in his veins and the smell of blood in his nostrils; take me under the eyes of all Rome to sate his lust, taming me with his whip and rutting with me like a wild b**st under the encouragement of the baying howls of the Roman mob.
The two gladiators clash their swords against their shields and face up. The excitement in the Colosseum reaches a crescendo. The noise is tumultuous and the air reeks with the scent of 50,000 frenzied bodies. I close my eyes and pray to the Gods for serenity. The battle is about to begin.
Michaela
(A small present for my Master. xxxxx)
11 years ago
But everything is just a spec in respect to the beauty of this story.
Michaela, thanks.
world and heroic but always pleasant to visit, thanks Michaela
Thank you for sharing it with us!! ^^
You have me so happy michaela, loved it but LOVE YOU SO MUCH MORE.